Why? Why Do You Have to Be an Asshat?

Please be forewarned - I've had several (okay 5) crantinis and I'm mad as hell.

Break-ups aren't fun. I mean you never hear anyone say, "You know, just for shits and giggles I think I'll break up with my partner tomorrow". Unless of course you're a psychotic, narcissistic asshole and then all bets are off.

Though I have several narcissistic tendencies that scare the shit out of me when I dwell on them for too long, I'm not psychotic. I have the papers to prove it. My recent break up was the result of months of sleepless nights, agonizing conversations with myself and friends and alot of deep deep soul searching. It broke my heart to end the relationship. I hurt him. I don't like hurting people unless they deserve it.

Ex-boyfriend has been emailing me for the last week, hounding me to tell the kids about our breakup. He argued that they had a right to know. I argued that I was their mother, and as their mother I had final call as to when to tell my kids. The kids have not seen him in over 6 months. They have long ago stopped asking when they would see him again. Ex sent me an email today telling me that if I did not tell them, he would. He talks to Nora quite frequently on Facebook about farmville (don't ask...that's a whole other issue) and ipods.

This afternoon I'm in the kitchen and I hear Nora shout, "Mom...what the hell is going on?". Nora shouting is one thing, Nora saying hell means that something of an apacolyptic nature has happened. She comes out to the kitchen with the laptop and shows me Ex's facebook page. He has changed his status to "Single" and put "blank is now new and improved, 100% Dual Mom free".

Blink blink.

So I'm essentially forced to explain to Nora what has happened. You can only imagine how your's truly likes being forced to fucking do anything. Son of a bitch.

Wait it gets better.

My sister in law called me this evening - "Have you seen Ex's facebook?" I said that I had, that he's angry, hurt and lashing out. There was silence on the other end of phone. SIL said, "Wow, I can't believe you're being so diplomatic about this". Wait what? Long story short I check fb only to find that he's essentially had a full on conversation with my daughter about our relationship on FUCKING FACEBOOK for all the world to see.

So I fired off this in an email:
Do not speak with Nora about our relationship ever again please. I have no problem with the two of you discussing farmville or ipods but I will not have my personal life displayed for all the world to see on fucking facebook. I haven't been 14 in a long time and have no desire for this type of display. I thought you were alot more mature than this.

And I get this back:

So the point of your note is that you're pissed off that I did exactly what I said I was going to do. I was no secret that I was going to let my friends know on Friday. (So the only way he could let his friends know about our break up is via FB?) It was no secret that if your kids asked I would tell them the truth. (They would never ask about our relationship unless something provoked them to ask) I'm really not sure what the problem is here.(The problem, you limp dick fucking asshole cocksucker is that your using my children to hurt me) You had advanced warning and now you're embarrassed. To bad. What bugs you is not in any way or form my problem. Be angry at yourself.


So here's the thing. I'm not going to post anything disparaging about you online and I have not done so. (Ummm how is it not disparaging to have a conversation with my 12 year old daughter about our relationship online you stupid fucking bald bastard) That's as far as it goes. I do this for your kids. (You do nothing for my kids...you do this because you know the only way to hurt me is through my kids because I stopped caring about you a long fucking time ago) Not for you. At no time will I lie to your kids if they ask me questions about this.Feel free to send more email demands to see what weight they have with me.

Here's the thing, I get anger. I get that he's angry, I do. But this, this is just beyond anything I ever thought he'd be capable of. I did not want this breakup to end in our slinging names and insults. I'm obviously not going to respond, it's exactly what he wants. However, if he continues to use my daughter to get to me, he's going to wind up with his penis shoved down his throat, and not in a feel good way either. I will fucking hurt him like he's never been hurt before.

Bastard, you would think he'd know after 8 years not to fuck with me. Who's going to bail me out when I'm arrested for assault?

Share A Spoon Salad Style

You would never know it from my rapidly expanding midriff, but I love me a good salad. Pair it with a glass (or six) of a light white wine and you have yourself a perfect summer meal. So I'm playing along with Zgirl and posting not one, but two salad recipes. No need to thank me, I live to serve. Should you be inclined to want to play along also, just click the pic above and all the fabtabulousness of the one we know as Zgirl shall be revealed to you.

Ok enough bullshit, on with the salads.

First off we have a thai mango salad. If you are a lover of sweet and spicy than this is a dish for you.

Ingredients:

This recipe serves 6 people. Or if you're like me who loves thai food it serves 3.

• 1/3 cup chopped peanuts
• 2 unripe mangoes
• 1/3 c fresh cilantro
• 2 tbsp lime juice
• 4 tsp sugar
• 4 tsp fish sauce
• 1 tbsp vegetable oil
• 1/4 tsp chili sauce or hot pepper sauce
• 1 sweet red pepper, thinly sliced
• 1 cup thinly sliced red onion

Throw it all together and hope for the best.

Kidding

Toast your nuts in a skillet (that's what she said...sorry I couldn't resist) - about 6 minutes.

The mango part is important. Don't be getting all slipshod and buy ripe mango. You'll fuck the whole recipe up. The mangoes need to be UNRIPE people. Firm, not squishy. Got it? So peel the mango and then cut it into thin (I repeat thin) strips. If you know how to "score" a vegetable all the better. If you don't...well google it, it's complicated. If you don't want to google it just cut the damn thing in thin strips.

In a bowl, whisk together the coriander, lime juice, sugar, fish sauce, oil and chili sauce. Add mango, red pepper, and onion and toss it all together. Sprinkle with the nuts and ta da....a beautific salad that's so yummy it's almost orgasmic.

Special note: Though the recipe doesn't call for it, I often grab a handful of baby tomatoes, cut them in half and throw them in. Adds color and a nice taste. Another thing I add, (can you see that I don't like to follow recipes?) is red pepper flakes. Be careful though, a little goes a long way.

Of course I've made this look harder than it is. It's not hard. Cutting the mango is the most difficult part. Seriously, I've had people offer to pay me for this recipe after I've served it at drunken parties sophisticated gatherings.

On to recipe two.

Spinach Blueberry Salad

I have no measurements for this salad because it's one of those things I make that sort of happened by accident.

• 1 bag of baby spinach
• 1 pkg fresh blueberries
• a bunch of crumbled feta let's go with a cup
• a handful of chopped walnuts
• balsamic vinegar salad dressing

Throw it all together.

I'm serious this time.

You'll love it. And it's so easy. I'm all about the easy.

30-Something Single White Female

Holy fuck.

It dawned on me last night that THAT is exactly what I am. Sunday evening while sitting around drinking wine with my brother and his family (we were drinking the wine, the kids were having juice), he said to me, "Hey T, you could be a cougar now". After calling the paramedics to remove my fist from his face I pondered his statement for a bit.

I'm not one to shy away from a challenge, but hell it's been quite awhile since I have been single. I sure do hope being single is like riding a bike because me thinks I've forgotten how to do it (and yes..by it I think I may subconciously mean IT). Can I get a tutor?

So I googled cougar.

BIG mistake.

If I wasn't scared before, I am now.

As per urban dictionary, a cougar is defined as:

 An older woman who frequents clubs in order to score with a much younger man.  The cougar      can be anyone from an overly surgically altered wind tunnel victim, to an absolute sad and bloated old horn-meister, to a real hottie or milf. Cougars are gaining in popularity -- particularly the true hotties -- as young men find not only a sexual high, but many times a chick with her shit together.

A young man's drug of choice. Great.

Why am I even talking about this? Well, aside from the fact that I'm fucking retarded, it has been playing on my mind since my brother so delicately pointed it out to me. I've never gone for the younger guy. My husband was 4 years older than me. Recent Ex boyfriend was 5 years older than me, and we all know damn well how those relationships turned out. So I think when I'm ready (and honestly I think it's going to be a long time) I may have to change up my modus operandi.

The way I see it, I have several choices.

1. Remain single. Purchase several cats and become the crazy cat lady who is seen walking the neighborhood in her "house dress", wearing bright pink lipstick smeared all over her mouth -  while talking to herself. Many years later I will be found dead in my home with half my face eaten by said cats.
2. Hunt for some stud to fulfill my sexual requirements and throw him to the wayside when I've drained him of all life sustaining fluid (I'm obviously watching too many vampire shows).
3. Become a cougar. Find a boy 10 years younger than me (would that qualify me for cougar status, do I get a membership card?) that I can mold into the perfect companion. All the while having my friends laugh behind my back at what a stupid OLD fool I am.
4. Become a lesbian. Hey, I'm not ruling anything out at this point.
5. Wisen the fuck up and quit worrying about how my tits sag and are bound to get lost in my back fat the first time I have sex* and just go with the flow.

So grrrrrrrrrrrrr??? Somehow I can't see it......

*I can't take credit for the hilariaty of that statement - Betty White uttered those words on a tv show I was watching last night. It was as though she was speaking to me.

Three Minute Update

Ahemmmm.

What are you looking at? It's only been two weeks - ok dammit closer to three but seriously - do we need to be that specific? Did you even notice I was gone? Ok -  I know some of you have because I've been getting emails that say "Where the fuck are you?"

I'm here I'm here. You'll have to forgive me. I live on an island people. It's summer. Do I really need to explain myself? This time of year means endless days spent laying on the beach (I fucking refuse to heed the warnings of doctors and stay "inside" between the hours of 11:00am and 3pm to avoid the sun at peak strength.....yes I fully realize I'll be laughing out of my asshole when they have to cut my face off because I have skin cancer). It also means it's watermelon margarita season.

So what have I been up to aside from slothing around the beach and drinking too much tequila (let's not bother mentioning the fact that not two posts ago I swore never to touch the stuff again....thank you).

I'm being audited. These goddamn fucker assball shitholes (if you actually work for RC I'm not talking about you....obviously) can't seem to accept the fact that I've been seperated for 10 years without actually getting divorced and that my ex and I actually share custody of our children without having a million legal documents stating the fact. This is the THIRD time in 10 years I've been asked to provide proof that a) my children are actually my children (I'm considering taking pics of my fucking stretch marks and sending it along to them). b) that ex and I do actually reside in seperate residences

What makes this audit especially fun is that I can't find the kids birth certificates. I have tore the house apart and they are no where to be found. I'm thinking I must have tucked them away someplace "safe" when I moved two years ago. Obviously my  hiding spot was really damn safe. This means I have to get new birth cerfiticates to the tune of a gazzillion and one dollars.

I called time of death on my relationship. It was worse than leaving the father of my children.

Spending time with this little imp who is growing up much too quickly for my liking. The other two imps only require my presence when it's time to belly up to the trough or they need a drive somewhere. They don't deserve to have their pictures on my blog. Kidding, I love them all equally. Actually it has more to do with the fact that oldest child is working his arse off so it feels as though I haven't seen him in a dogs age and middle child never leaves his room so I sometimes forget that I actually have a middle child.

Working and fretting about paying bills. Aren't we all? Cursing the fates that I wasn't born into a disgustingly filthy rich family so that I would in turn be able to live the life of materialism I was meant for. This having to be a person of substance because I'm poor really sucks. I'd be so much better at being shallow and superficial.

There's other blah blah blah and yammer yammer yammer....it's mundane shit. I've been catching your posts here and there but be sure to tell me if I've missed anything really juicy. I like juicy shit.

I'm drinking the tequila kool aid and hooking up with Supah for Post It Note Tuesday. Everyone knows PINT ... I'll not bore you with the 411 on how to play along. Yes, I'm kind like that.

 

 

 

Speaking of fucktards - is it supposed to be really difficult to get these little sticky notes placed correctly...or should I be riding the short bus?

Second Jobs

I have posted before about getting a second job. It's also one of the reasons for my scarce presence in blogland these days.

I haven't said what this second job entails, what it is I'm actually doing. I spent two months scouring the job boards. I had to find something that worked around my insane schedule. One week I'm foot loose and fancy free after 5:00pm - the next week I have kid pick up and everything that goes with having kids afoot - cooking, cleaning, homework blah blah blah blah. Retail was out because of scheduling. Waitressing or bartending was the same. I couldn't work till 1:00 in the morning and then get up at 5:00am to get ready for my real job. Working as an escort was out because I don't have the temperment. Don't laugh, I actually considered it.

So what am I doing? Market research, via the telephone, from home. I'm one of those annoying people that call just as you're sitting down to supper asking you to complete a survey.

(Hangs head in shame and listens intently as her followers drop like flies)

The thing is, I have never ever worked at a job that I'm not proud of doing. Let's be real though, no one likes a surveyer. I refuse to call myself a telemarketer because the company I work for does not sell shit. They do surveys for large companies and business - mostly customer satisfaction surveys. However, to the general masses, there is no distinction between what I do and a telemarketer.

Do you know what the other kick in the arse is? I'm really fucking good at it. I've been told by several people at the end of a survey that I have a "lovely voice" and "if every telemarketer (See? No distinction) that called sounded like you do I'd complete more of these surveys". That comment actually made me think I should be doing 1-900 calls instead of surveying. The comment was made by a woman.

The job allows me to work from home, there's no travel and I make up my own schedule. If there's days I can't work, I simply don't. Shift start and end times are at my discretion. For this reason alone the job is ideal. The pay is really decent. But I'm still ashamed to say I'm doing this. A very select few of my friends know that I have this second job.

Here's where you come in. This secrecy around this new job is playing on me. Am I being retarded? Ok ok - we all know the answer to that but am I being retarded when it comes to this? I need your HONEST opinion. I keep telling myself I could resort to theivery (I do look good in black) and prostitution to make my car payment and that would be a helluva lot worse than surveying, right?

Also, the next time you get one of those annoying phone calls at dinner, keep in mind that a "I'm sorry I really don't want to do this" is so much nicer than a "fuck you". The person on the other end of the line could simply be trying to feed her kids or make her car payment.

If There's A Medal For Being a Fucktard...I Have It In The Bag

Thunk.

That would be the sound of me falling off the face of the earth. I know. I'm such a fucktard.

So while trying to catch up on the 463 posts in my reader, I found Zgirl's post from today (okay I have to admit...I started this post last week!!!) and I'm stealing her idea. Don't worry, I warned her I was going to steal it.

So rather than bitch and complain about the multitude of people that make me want to stab them in the eye and kick them in the crotch on a daily basis - I'm going to bitch about myself. Fun, right?!!!! Let me clarify - I'm going to bitch about my drunk self. You see, happy hours have recently been turning into happy entire evenings that see me completely inebriated and saying totally inappropriate things to whomever passes within hearing range. I need to stop. Of course any armchair psychologists would tell you that I'm using alcohol as a means to escape my shitty relationship issues. Really though, isn't that one of the wonders of alcohol?

So let us begin shall we....10 things I hate about Drunk Dual Mom.

Brain/mouth filters. I struggle with this at the best of times. Add alcohol, mix gently, and the resulting chaos will be talked about for WEEKS to come.

1. The fact that when you are drinking - you don't see anything wrong or inappropriate talking about blow jobs with the Executive Director of Programs. To go as far as to offer such a service to this man if he cut your grass - yeah that might NOT have been one of your finer moments. Albeit the grass is really long and such a drag to cut. Yes, he was laughing with you, but upon sober reflection, he had to have been a tad bit shocked.

2. While laughing and joking with a group of contractors about the possibility of running for Mayor is good clean fun - suggesting to that same group of men that sleeping with all the male prisoners at the local jail to ensure votes probably wasn't such a classy move. To then proceed to put parameters around your whorishnish by stating the following: "But they can't have beards and they have to have large dicks". Oh Dual Mom....oh oh oh, there are no words.

3. Tequila is not your friend. Make a t-shirt, put it on a sticky note, tattoo it on your ass, whatever needs to be done to ensure you remember this.

4. The fact that when you get going, you have no idea when to stop. The absolute retardedness of mixing red wine, tequila shooters AND whisky is beyond comprehension. Grabbing the bottle of Crown Royal and filling a tumbler...yeah that's going to hurt the next morning. On the plus side you highly amused a friend when your reply to her saying to you, "Ummmm you don't want to do that" was "Oh wow, you're absolutely right...this drink totally needs ice".

5. Your ability to hear what you want to hear when inebriated. Pretty sure the waitress did NOT actually want you to so emphatically appoint yourself a member of her rugby team. When you turned to the girls and said, "Wait, when she refers to a SENIOR rugby team...she's using the word senior to mean really good at rugby rather than middle age, isn't she?" it caused them to fall off their chairs with laughter.

6. Bringing down a really expensive chair while holding onto it trying to balance yourself. Again, classy. Who knew wood and flesh made so much noise hitting a marble floor? Defending your actions by saying you were practicing for rugby tryouts probably didn't fool anyone.

7. I hate the fact that friends remember EVERY last goddamn word that I utter. Why can't they drink until they forget....like I do?

So just so you know, I am alive and kicking. I figured I had better let you know before someone sent out search and rescue. All is well. I just seem to be in a writing funk...ya know what I mean? Obviously this writing funk hasn't impaired my drinking abilities.

Ok c'mon dish....I want to hear tales of drunken debauchery. Please?

So Let's Find Out Just How Demented You Are

Ok so dude that did this little bit of profiling with us kept referring to Psychology Today, which is a well-known magazine. Dude could also be full of shit, I don't know. I have to tell you though, I was sitting at a table of 8 people when he revealed the answers and we were all ooohing and ahhhing like we had suddenly become enlightened buddas. I and another guy (who just so happened to be my boss) refused to share our answers on the last question with the rest of the table. You'll see why in a minute.

So my answers were:

Favorite color - red (of course)
Warm, strong, bright

The words you used to describe your favorite color is how you subconciously see yourself. Mimi apparently thinks she's very eye-catching. Egotistical much Mimi? :0)

Favorite animal - cat
Alone, stand offish, aloof

The words used to desribe your favorite animal reveals how you think others see you. Apparently I'm a snob.

White room
Cool, calm, alone (there's that damn word again)
The words used to describe your feelings in a white room are how you subconciously feel about your future. Let's not talk about the fact that I've used the word alone twice.

Body of water
Fast, noisy, cool

This one, well this one reveals how you like your sex. It disturbs me that my boss also refused to reveal his answers on this one. I was NOT about to tell people that I like fast, noisy sex. Tell me how quickly that would have gone viral over the email system at work?

But some of your answers!!!! Some of your answers had me hooting outrageously. Gayle has everlasting sex which makes me incredibly jealous. Zgirl has wet, refreshing sex which I can't even think about. She also thinks others see her as sleek, stealth and agile which is really interesting. It's why I smushy love her face. I'm concerned that Quixotic doesn't have a very bright view of her future and we need to stage an intervention.

Salt became so anxious at the thought of the white room she couldn't even finish the questions, as did Mrs. BlogsAlot. You two should hook up and talk over your anxiety issues, really. Logical Libby was apparenlty told at camp that she wants to sleep with farm animals. This explains so much Libby. Once again Mimi takes the cake with humungous, deadly sex. Holy black widow Mimi!!!

I had so much fun reading your answers! For those that didn't include your answers in the comments, let me know if you have any deep psychological issues you need help sorting out. I'm a trained professional now ....all expert and stuff.

Fuck I love you guys. You make me smile.

Psychological Profiling Anyone?

Anyone that has ever worked in a large organization has probably attended a "Staff Appreciation" event of some sort. These things can either go one of two ways: the day ends up being lots of fun with a great guest speaker, good food, and the chance to catch up with people you often only communicate with via email. Or. Or you sit there wanting to stab your eyes out, wondering what the hell your Human Resources department was thinking and if they actually work for the same organization as you do.

Friday we had a "staff appreciation day". I did not want to stab my eyes out. Bonus.

The guest speaker was actually a dude that had been on Opera. Being on Opera totally validates his existence, right? I need a sarcasm font. But seriously, dude was good. He managed to keep me entertained for two hours which is no small accomplishment. He started his spiel talking about the workforce of today. How the millenials (young people just leaving school) are going to change the face of the work place. How these millenials have grown up thinking that it is their god given right to have the "perfect" life handed to them, complete with an entry level job paying 60 grand a year, one months holidays and a pension plan (or 401K for those in the states) all wrapped neatly in a bow. What happens if they don't get it? Why they will sick their mommy on you of course. Don't laugh, it happens. We see it everyday in post-secondary education and it's going to happen in the workforce, you mark my words.

Anyway, after about the first 15 minutes one of my co-workers turned to me and said, "He's stealing your act, I heard you give this exact spiel years ago". One of my favorite soapboxes to get on is the state of workforce and the effect the teacup generation is going to have on that workforce. Work 40 hour weeks? Screw that, I have an xbox game to wrap. Overtime? Yeah right, I have a standing mani/pedi appointment every Thursday at 5:00 that I will not miss for any damn employer. You don't think I'm doing my job correctly? Well fuck you I quit. Ask anyone that works in Human Resources and they'll tell you their biggest concern today is finding dedicated staff that are willing to work. Hell, they don't even have to be qualified, they just need to be willing to work a full week.

Here's my question: What happens when these millenials are running the country/countries? It's scary folks, scary scary shit.

Okay, it wasn't all doom and gloom. He gave us a bit of a psychological profiling diddy. Want to play? Of course you do.

Think about your favorite colour and write down three adjectives describing that color.

Think about your favorite animal and write down three words describing that animal.

Now, think about an all white room. The walls are white, the floor is white, there is no sound in the room, no windows, everything is white. Now list three words to describe how that room makes you feel.

Lastly, think about a body of water. Any body of water whether it's an ocean, river, stream whatever. List three words describing that body of water.

Do it. It's fun. I'll come back tomorrow and tell you what your answers mean. I'll also give you my answers which will have you pissing yourself laughing. If you want to share your answers in the comments please do!

Coloring Outside The Lines

I live in a black and white world. I should clarify that. I INSIST on living in a black and white world. When life has the audacity to throw shades of gray at me, I simply get out my trusty set of crayolas and color the damn thing. Well shit bricks and throw rocks at airplanes, my black and white crayons are worn down to the nub and the local craft store seems to be out of these very colors. What the hell???

What the hell seems to be my motto these days. It's no one thing in particular but a culmination of life happenings that has me going, "Okay slow the fuck down because Dual Mom is having trouble keeping up".

The 18 year old little fucker darling son is back home, apology in hand. Black and white, check. What's not so black and white? He got his license last week and it has me spinning. Let me explain (I know...you're rolling your eyes at me...I can FEEL it, stop it). I've never been a helicopter parent. I firmly believe kids need to experience bumps and bruises to enable them to deal with this wonder we call life. I've never worried about my kids being stolen out of the public park, I've had my daughter split her head open and I didn't blink an eye. My son fell off my mother's second floor deck when he was two years old (I was 8 months pregnant at the time) and I managed to get him to a hospital, sit through hours of xrays and CAT scans, all without going into labour and losing my fucking mind. So I'm able to keep my shit together right, strength in the face of adversity? Right?

The fact that my son has his license has me wanting to down gallons of tequila or 150 proof vodka whenever I think of him driving. He's 18, it's time that he had his license right? WRONG people, what the hell does he need his license for when he has two perfectly good parents with tons of driving experience to drive his ass around? I have a completely irrational fear of my children driving. I  have clear, vivid scenarios playing out in my head of receiving a call from the RCMP saying that my son has been in a car accident. Complete scenarios people- where the whole dialogue plays out in my head complete with crystal clear images. The severity of the accident varies by the day. I seriously feel like I'm going to lose my mind.

Until last night, I've been able to hold my shit together because even though he has his license, he has no car. His father and I have told him he needs to pay the insurance fees to be put on as a second driver on either of our vehicles. Last night he came home and said to me, "I got a truck". I spun around so fast I swear I heard my neck crack - "What the hell do you mean you got a truck, where the hell did you get a truck, what the hell are you talking about, oh sweet jesus tell me it's not true". Apparently Gramps (Monty's paternal great-grandfather) has GIVEN him his truck. Gramps has Alzheimers and it has reached the stage where he's no longer able to drive. Well fuck Alzheimers all to hell.

Of course I can't tell him he can't have the goddamn truck. What the hell kind of mother would do that? As I stood there looking at the grin which was totally encompassing Monty's face, tears started pouring down my own face and I said to him, "Please buddy, please please be so careful when you're driving. I couldn't handle it if something happened to you". Do you know what the little fucker did? He laughed at me, told me I was being foolish. The worst part is....I know I'm being foolish. I know this level of fear is completely irrational. The goddamn black crayon won't color this level of gray.

The relationship with boyfriend. How can I give you the facts in a succinct, short manner?

• We've been together for 8 years
• He's sick, has been on dialysis for 2 1/2 years, waiting for a kidney transplant
• I don't love him. No that's not true, I do love him. I'm not in love with him. I'm not happy. I'm miserable with him actually. I don't use the word miserable often. I'm not one prone to misery.
• He's not happy, but I've realized over the last year he's not a "happy" person and he's ok with that. This is a huge issue with me.
• He loves me. I'm his life. He lives and breathes for me.
• I'm scared if I end our relationship, it will take away his will to live.

Those are the facts. There is so much more than just the facts though. There's 8 years of history, there's the relationship he's developed with my children. There's guilt. Mostly, there's unhappiness which I just try to ignore. The goddamn white crayon won't color this one.

I need to decide within the next 5 days whether or not I'm willing to dish out $3,800 (plus spending money) to send Jimmy to Europe on a school trip next year. Twelve days in Paris, Rome and the Riviera studying art and history. Can you imagine? I cannot convey to you just how much I want to give him this opportunity, to open his world like this. To give him such an incredible experience that I myself never had as a child. Isn't that what all parents want, to give their children opportunities to fly like the wind? $3,800 will require the selling of body parts. Five days to decide what organ I'm willing to live without. No, boyfriend won't buy my kidney, I've asked.

When I was away I had the chance to visit with oldest sister for an afternoon. She been diagnosed with MS. That would make both sisters diagnosed with MS in the last five years. Fuck me. She's not dealing very well with it. She has no family around to help her. I feel utterly useless. Let's not talk about my odds on this one. The experts seem to be split on whether this thing is genetic. Russian roulette anyone? I've tried coloring that one with both the black and white crayon to no avail.

There.

Those are the big things that have been playing on my mind and preventing me from writing and reading. I just feel as though I have nothing to give back to you so I haven't written because we all know this blogging gig is a game of give and take. The worst of it is, I miss you guys. I miss the give and take.

Anyone have crayons they can lend me?